smooth
by afastmachine
Summary: Emma is very good at distraction.


Emma sighs happily and reaches across the bed for her glass, eyeing the view as Killian wanders around her room searching for his clothes. Eventually he seems to find his trousers, and bends over, picking them up off the floor along with – ah, yes, that's where her bra went. He smirks at her and lays it out delicately on the bed, a low chuckle slipping out as she just shrugs and takes another sip of wine.

She curls her legs up under her and leans back against the headboard as she watches him shimmy into his tight leather pants. Lately he's been staying over, but tomorrow he's leaving at first light on a supply run for her parents(she suspects Charming just wants to get him out of their house), and he can't stay, which is a shame, but she certainly doesn't mind too much now.

He's struggling with his pants, trying to pull them over his thighs with a roll, and she can't help but giggle. They haven't had _that_ much to drink, just enough to be pleasantly buzzed, but it is amusing. He got out of them much faster, she remembers with a smile.

"What are you laughing at, love?" His voice is warm and thick, which does a rather effective job of distracting her from the ridiculous way he's trying to pull his pants on, shimmying and shaking his ass. Humming quietly, she takes another sip and sets her glass down.

"Your pants. That whole tight leather thing is biting you in the ass, isn't it?"

He huffs and gives them one last pull, sliding in at last. "Please, love, nothing bites me in the ass." Leering, he leans forward slightly. "Unless you're into that sort of thing…" Laughing, Emma leans up on her knees and moves across the bed, looping her fingers into his belt loops. He watches her, unabashedly following the sway of her hips and gentle movements of her breasts. She doesn't have to get dressed; this is her bed, after all.

"Here I thought _you_ were the one into biting," she murmurs quietly before she pulls him closer, his hips bumping against the mattress as she kisses him. He slips his hand into her hair, trailing his other arm down her side until he finds her hip. When she moves her hands to slip under the waist of his pants, he makes a small sound and slowly pulls away.

"Emma," he says slowly, "I have to go."

"You're missing a few things if you're planning on walking out right now," she dryly replies, pointedly dragging her hands down his bare chest, hooking them again in his pants.

She's not _trying_ to be a tease, but really. Killian Jones is standing half-naked with a pretty little hickey on his neck in_ her_ bedroom. How is a girl supposed to _not_ react to that?

He tips his head back, sighing in exasperation, and that's an invitation if she ever saw one. She leans forward and seals her lips over his neck. His adam's apple bobs and his hand comes up to her shoulder shakily. It's not very nice of her, but she still scrapes her teeth across his skin as she pulls away.

Without warning, he surges forward, pushing her flat on the bed and following with his mouth, nipping at the bite mark on her chest before he kisses her hard. She moans, because _yes_, and he grips her hip, fingers digging into her skin as he moves down her neck, kissing and sucking roughly. Her fingers tangle in his hair and he rumbles something into her skin, unintelligible to her but he returns to her mouth and kisses her again. He wraps his hand around the back of her neck and leans into it, hard and rough until she feels like she can't breathe, can't keep up with his lips, his tongue, his _everything_.

She tries to lock her legs around his hips, draw him closer, but he pulls away, finally breaking contact. He leans back, leaving her heaving on the comforter.

"Not fair," she mutters, "getting a girl worked up like that."

He just smirk and shrugs, turning to scour the room for his shirt.

"All's fair in love and war, darling," she hears him say, and then he's pulling his shirt over his head, shoulders shifting under his skin, spine twisting as he shoves his arms into the holes. Goddamn him.

He doesn't turn around, reaching for his vest and jacket where they're draped across a chair, slowly redressing and covering up all that skin in layers and layers. If that's how he wants to do this, then fine.

Slowly, she drifts her hand down between her legs, not surprised in the least to find herself getting wet. Closing her eyes, she starts to rub at her clit, enjoying the sensation. She'd enjoy it more if it wasn't her fingers, but whatever. A small moan slips out of her when she moves just the right way, and despite trying to bite it back, he must have heard, because the next thing she hears is him, echoing the sound.

"_Fuck_, Emma," he breathes, and she flutters her eyes open. He's staring at her, lips parted, breathing heavy.

"Yes, please," she says with a smirk, and he groans, scrubbing his hand across his face as he moves towards her, legs propelling him forward even though he doesn't seem to be aware of it.

"Emma," he whines, brushing the tips of his fingers across the inside of her thigh, a mesmerized look on his face. "I have to go."

She shrugs, circling her fingers gently as her breath hitches and she flutters her eyes.

"Then go."

He falls to his knees with a low growl, and then he's shoving her hand away, replacing it with his mouth. His fingers dig into her thigh, dragging her down against him as he buries himself in her. Emma rolls her hips into him, and he growls again, spreading her open on his tongue as he drags his teeth across her clit.

He licks his way back to her clit and rolls his tongue against her over and over again, just the right pressure to set off sparks. His hand disappears from her thigh and she slides a hand into his hair, reaching up to massage her breast with the other. God, he's good at this, his touches and teases too much and not enough at once.

Abruptly, he pulls away, standing quickly as she finally notices that he'd been busy undoing his pants again. He wisely doesn't try to take them off, just shoving down enough to get his cock free, and then she could care less about the status of his pants because he's lining up between her legs.

"Fuck," he groans, gently working himself inside of her, slipping home at the last second with an extra push. Bracing her feet on the bed, she rocks her hips up against him, and he falls forward, barely bracing himself with his arms as he thrusts into. "Damn it, Emma," he mutters, and his thrusts are sloppy and fast, hips stuttering.

"Stop complaining," she shoots back, and clenches around him, eliciting a sharp groan from him as he drops his head to the side of her neck. He takes her advice though, and fucks harder, finally finding a good rhythm that drives her into the mattress with every movement.

But christ, it feels good. She didn't plan on this, exactly, was more than happy to let him leave slightly flustered but well on his way. But he had to go and prove to her that she didn't always get the last word, and god is he proving it. His hand clings to her hip tightly and he braces himself with his other arm, dragging her down to meet each thrust.

He says her name against her neck, over and over again, various curses mixed in just for variety. When she slides her hand down to her clit, he groans and she presses harder, determined to come before him. And she will, god. She whimpers quietly and stills, her whole body picking that moment to freeze up as she comes, one hand still tangled around his neck and hair. He doesn't stop moving, and she drags her teeth across the underside of his neck, forcing his head back as she licks at that one spot he likes.

His body jerks in her arms, and then he's fucking her harder and faster until he comes, collapsing onto her.

They stay like that and catch their breath. It's not like Emma has anywhere to be (unlike him). She glances at the clock by her bed and winces internally. It's only eleven, but his ship has to leave port at dawn. He makes no move to rise off of her, so she gently runs her hand down his back soothingly.

"Sorry," she says quietly, and she means it, but she just can't sound sincere.

"Right," he mutters, easing himself onto his elbows. "You're a bloody minx, and when I return, you'll pay for this." As though to punctuate the threat, he kisses the tip of her nose.

Ah, yes, there's her threateningly villainous pirate with his nose kisses and cute little smiles.

The though makes her chuckle, and he glares at her before finally straightening and sliding out of her. He tucks himself away and pulls his pants back up from where they'd fallen, quickly redoing them up.

Emma doesn't move at all, knows damn well how good she looks right now, all fucked out. He reaches for his jacket, barely taking his eyes off of her, and shrugs into it.

"I mean it, love." His eyes are a mix of lust and what probably should be something threatening but all she sees is the crinkles next to his eyes and she can't take him too seriously.

"Aye aye, Captain," she says, trying to give it as much seriousness as she can. He narrows his eyes at her and stalks over, bending down just enough to give her a quick peck.

"Goodbye, Emma," he says, and turns, ready to walk away. But not just yet, she thinks, and scrambles up, swatting at his ass as he walks away.

His step falters but he doesn't look behind him, opens the door and is nearly gone when he turns back to her.

"Think about it while I'm gone, sweetheart. Thing long and _hard_ about it." His voice is a low rasping growl, and it will certainly tide her over for a little while.

"Oh, I will," she says with a smirk, and he just raises his eyebrows and shuts the door.

She hears his footsteps on the stairs and the door closing behind him as he leaves.

Easing back up on the bed, she reaches for her wine glass and downs the remainder of it before tucking herself under the covers. She'll clean up tomorrow, but for now she just wants to fall asleep, because it means one more day gone, one more day closer to him coming back.


End file.
